


Don't Count Your Chickens - Chad and Constance Fanfic

by Chad Warwick (FanficbyLee)



Category: American Horror Story
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:03:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficbyLee/pseuds/Chad%20Warwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Pre-series Easter 2010</p>
    </blockquote>





	Don't Count Your Chickens - Chad and Constance Fanfic

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-series Easter 2010

Character: Chad and Constance  
Genre: Gen  
Author: [](http://chad-warwick.livejournal.com/profile)[**chad_warwick**](http://chad-warwick.livejournal.com/) ([](http://sylar.livejournal.com/profile)[ **sylar**](http://sylar.livejournal.com/) )  
Fandom: American Horror Story  
Word count: 1100  
Rating: G  
Prompt: Which came first, the chicken or the egg? for [](http://theatrical-muse.livejournal.com/profile)[**theatrical_muse**](http://theatrical-muse.livejournal.com/)  
Notes: Pre-series Easter 2010

  
My hair was plastered to my forehead by the steam coming from the double boiler. Thank god I’d put in the pasta arm, or I’d never be able to boil two dozen eggs at a time. I used my forearm to brush my hair back, before hefting the big pot to lug it to the sink. That was the big flaw in the design of the pasta arm. It could fill the pot on the stove, but it didn’t mean that I didn’t have to carry the damn thing to drain it. At least with the double boiler I could lift the eggs out gently. I already had two dozen cooling on the counter on fluffy towels to soak up the extra moisture and keep them safe. This was the last batch. Four dozen should be enough for the neighborhood kids, and I only had so much dye and time to make them all beautiful.

While the cold water wash was running over the new batch, I started to mix the dyes in the disposable bowls I picked up at Smart & Final. I don’t know what I’d do without them for projects like this. I had red, blue, green and yellow food coloring in quart jugs and a half gallon jug of white vinegar to make the dye set. I had all of our tablespoons ready for dipping and sloshing the eggs in the dye and a couple of my baking racks with newspaper under them for drying and catching any drips. After the base coat, I’d spend some time with edible markers to draw cute decorations on the eggs and then apply some safe glitter and glue for that extra bit of pizzazz.

Two hours later and I had three dozen eggs with their base color coats, and I was working on the last. The kitchen smelled like vinegar, and I was on my second glass of wine. I licked my lips as I dipped each egg into the dyes. I had to pee, but I didn’t want to leave the eggs. Things had a habit of moving around the kitchen if I wasn’t paying attention. It gave me the creeps, but that’s what happens when you live in a ‘haunted’ house.

And that was why I was doing all of this. No matter how much work I did on the remodeling and restoration, the house’s reputation could end up biting us in the ass when it was time to sell it. I got a hell of a deal because of it, and I didn’t want someone else pulling the same bullshit on Pat and me.

Now if the ghosts could just keep out of the way until after the hunt on Sunday, we’d be sitting pretty. I’d sent up a notice on Craig’s List and a few event sites, and I was expecting a bunch of people to show up. Hopefully they wouldn’t all be Ghost Hunters and ghouls, but if they were, they could have deep pockets. Pat and I couldn’t afford to stay here much longer. The bills were piling up.

“OK, I’ve got to go. Don’t fuck with anything while I’m gone, please.” I told the invisible people who haunted us. “I promise that I’ll leave some for you too. But let me get them decorated first.”

I didn’t trust the ghosts to behave. They loved to hide my shit. If Pat wouldn’t have teased me for a month at a time, I’d be sleeping with my car keys under my pillow. I swear it’s like they don’t want me to be able to leave the house. Now I just had to deal with Pat coming home with the spare keys to help me only to find my keys exactly where they were supposed to be. They were making me look absentminded and like a drunk, and Pat was losing his patience with me. But I couldn’t tell him about the ghosts. He’d never believe me, and if he did, then he’d give me shit about buying the house.

“Son of a bitch.” When I got back to the kitchen, the eggs were stacked in little pyramids all over the room, and the dye had been poured onto the towels. “Really?” I put my hands on my hips, and then grabbed a garbage bag to put the stained linens in. “There was vinegar in that. I’ll never get the towels white again.”

“Boys will be boys,” I looked up from the mess to see Constance standing in the doorway. She had an Easter Basket filled with bright rainbow grass in her hands. It was a candy and fake wicker gay joke delivered in a cloud of cigarette smoke and Jean Nate. “This is for you and your….boyfriend. Addy wanted you to have it.”

Constance and I had our battles. Especially when we first moved in and she would look at Pat like he was on her menu. But this was nice, even if it was the fugliest thing I’d ever seen. I gave her a smile as I took it from her. My hands were covered in dye from the towels, and I let out a ragged sigh as I set the basket down and rushed to the sink to try to wash my hands clean. “I was being so careful.”

“They like you,” she said as she came in, sniffing at the eggs in their little piles. “If they didn’t, you’d have had them all over the house smashed on the walls before you could cook them.”

“I’m grateful for that although the pranks are getting old.” I’d never admit it to Constance that it helped that she knew I wasn’t imagining things, but then she’d lived here. She knew. “Would Addy like to come over and help me decorate? She can help me hide the eggs too if that’s all right with you?”

I broke through the mask with that. Constance’s face relaxed, and her smile became real. There was a softness around her eyes, and she patted me on the arm. “Dish soap won’t work. Here sit down.” She went into over to my baking canisters and put some baking soda in one of my mixing bowls and then poured vinegar on top of it. It began to froth, and she told me to put my hands in it. “After you soak in that for a few minutes, scrub your hands with cooking oil and sugar in a scrub. It’ll do the trick.”

“Thanks. And thank you for the basket.”

“You stay right there, and I’ll go get Addy. I know she’d love to help you. We haven’t decorated eggs in a long time at our house.” She sashayed out of the house, leaving me up to my wrists in the bowl while I watched the dye turning the bubbles colors. 

******  
Thanks for reading. Comments to my LJ, please.


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